Kitabı oku: «Secresy; or, Ruin on the Rock», sayfa 16

LETTER IV
FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME

I know not precisely where to begin, nor how much of the adventure I told you in my last. Did I not say, that, while yet at my oak, Nina entered the wood a little below the tomb and without observing me began to climb the rock? But I think I broke off before I had mentioned her swift return at my call, and the irresolution she betrayed by running backward and forward from me to the rock, and from the rock back again to me. Desirous to know what her manner portended, I arose as if to follow, and away she bounded, taking the path up to the hermitage. As she ascended much swifter than I could, she waited on the outer side of the ruin till I also arrived; and then bent her course round to the farther part, which being the most perfect of the building I imagined she had chosen for the purpose of sheltering her young ones. It is called the chapel. Standing on a projecting point of the rock, it is difficult of access, for the path is cumbered with loose stones, from one to the other of which runs in perplexing branches the twining ivy. High grass and clusters of bramble choak the wild flowers that shed their inviting fragrance on part of the lower side of the rock, nor do I remember ever but twice before to have gone beyond the unroofed cell, where Clement and I, one happy spring morning, raised a seat of stone, and plucked away the weeds that new springing grass might mingle with our mossy foot-stool. There too we planted a woodbine, rose, and jassamine, but the cell refused nourishment to our favorites. Foiled in our attempt to make the ruin bloom a garden, it had no longer for us any attractions.

Nina's wistful look as she again stopped at the chapel's entrance now tempted me on, but it could tempt me no farther. At the stairs my curiosity or at least all inclination to gratify it terminated. In one corner of this small chapel where the wall is yet undecayed, remains a kind of altar. Some stones in front have falled away and discover a flight of dark narrow steps, I concluded Nina had concealed her young in the vault below, for she would not return when I called: but I could not think of encountering I knew not what damp and darkness in the hope of finding them. Both suppositions were erroneous. The cell is superior in dimensions and dryness to those above ground, nor had my fawn any offspring there. This place, Caroline, was Mr. Murden's abode. Thence he ascended followed by Nina, and stood before me the original of your painting, and the same who once in the wood started from every appearance of feeble age into youth and vigour.

He named himself. 'Miss Valmont,' said he, 'I no longer bear a borrowed character. Henceforward, should you ever think of me, know I am Murden, the friend of Clement Montgomery, and the acquaintance (I dare not say more) of your Miss Ashburn. Already the victim of unsuccessful love, by all my hopes of heaven, I came hither only to seek your consolations. The world cannot find time to sooth a breaking heart. You in solitude might. But you have no pity, no friendship. An accident keeps me here this day, or I had now been gone for ever. Do not Miss Valmont, do not set your people of the castle to hunt me; for I am desperate.'

'Whose victim are you?' said I.

'Whose?' repeated he loudly and wildly. 'Did you say whose, Miss Valmont?' Then turning away and sinking his voice, he said, 'Ay whose, indeed! Do you know,' added he, approaching nearer to me, 'that death is of icy coldness! The eye beams no tidings, for the heart feels no warmth! Such is my love to me! – Tell me, Miss Valmont, what would you do were Clement thus?'

'Alas! Die also!'

'Oh brave!' said Murden with a strange kind of smile: – 'bear witness, thou unhallowed gloomy mansion, for one, one moment of our lives are we agreed! – Miss Valmont, I shall never see you more. If I have created uneasiness in your breast, by my strange visits to this spot, forgive and forget it. Ask me no questions. In some hour of less anguish than the present, I will tell Miss Ashburn how and why I came hither. Another person there is also to whom I shall owe the detail. – Hold' – for I was going to speak. 'Do not name him. Your last words were, Die also! To me your last, choicest blessing. No! No! I will not hear you speak again. This is our final interview. – In peace and safety, Miss Valmont, return to your wood; and when remembrances of love shall be no longer remembrances of happiness, then —Die also.

And who, Caroline, could outlive their remembrances of happiness? I have placed myself one minute in the situation of this unfortunate young man: I beheld the tomb close upon the lifeless form of Clement, and in the wide world there was no longer room for me.

Murden descended to his cell; and I went home to weep for him. Will not you weep for him, my friend? and Clement too? I feel you will. Clement knows full well the value of requited affection; he will sooth his friend, but he will not ask him to live. It would be cruelty.

Nina looked kindly at me, but she followed Murden; and, since he quitted that ill-chosen abode, I often see her descending the rock. She even appears to mourn his absence; and she looks around expectingly, and starts at every gust of wind, as she used when Clement first bade us adieu.

Either to you or Clement I appeal for the further history of your drooping friend. Bid Clement write: be it only three words, 'Bless my Sibella;' and I will wear it next my heart – a charm to hold disease and foreboding at defiance.

My dearest friend, farewel!

SIBELLA VALMONT

LETTER V
FROM ARTHUR MURDEN TO CAROLINE ASHBURN

When friendship and advice can no longer avail him, Murden intreats a patient ear to the history of his misfortunes.

Intreat! Did he say? – No, Madam; he intreats nothing of you: he demands your ear, demands your attention, your sighs, your sorrow: and little indeed is that, though your all of reparation, for the mischievous eloquence, which first instigated him to become the poor valueless object of pity, sighs, and sorrow.

To tell you that I love Sibella Valmont, is no more than Montgomery will tell you. But he loves her, in his way. – I, in mine. When present, her supreme and every varying beauty, makes his rapture; and, till he has been a day without her, he imagines absence would be insupportable. – Absent or present, alike she fills my every vein. I love her, Miss Ashburn, as – oh misery! – as she loves Clement!

Judge me not so absurd as to entertain hope, although I tell you I am again returned to the hermit's cell. Offer hope in its most seducing form; and still would I renounce it. Yes, Madam: possession of Sibella, were I an atom less to her than she is to me, must inflict torture worse than the present.

Nor deem, that I would dare assail her ears with my unauspicious love. I have spoken in mystery; and she thinks I mourn a buried mistress. – Alas! and so I do!

Montgomery, what dost thou owe me? Yet 'twas not thee I meant to serve; therefore thou owest me nothing. Thou canst find happiness any where: but, in the circle of thy arms and heart, centres the full measure of Sibella's wishes.

I would almost, Miss Ashburn, as soon have rushed into the fire, as again sustained the chilling beam of her eye. Yet I have come hither again, have endured this and more, to check the carniverous meal of anxiety already begun on her cheek's bloom.

I have been told, and have told Sibella, that instead of being a dependent on her uncle, she is mistress of fifty thousand pounds: with infinite astonishment she heard me, and is gone to demand an explanation of Mrs. Valmont. I requested her to forbear naming me, till I had made a safe retreat from the park; for Valmont is proud, insolent and cruel. And she bade me wait her return here, that according to Mr. Valmont's reception of the tidings, I, as Clement's friend, might yield her my prompt advice.

Yes! as Clement's friend, she said. Ah well may I talk of endurance!

When I first knew you, Madam, at Barlowe Hall, you won my admiration and esteem, by the uniform reserve, or I may say repugnance of your manners toward me. I adored your disdain of a character I equally disdained, while I contemptibly descended to wear it; and, though I could not instantly resolve to cast aside the unmerited fame of my licentiousness, yet you never moved or spoke, that I was not all eye and ear, however, you might contemn the abettor of impertinence and folly in Lady Margaret and Lady Laura Bowden.

One evening, you may remember, I abruptly shook off those interrupters, who wore gorgon-heads in my view, while they delivered their invidious suppositions concerning the lovely being, whose picture you had so animatedly given. – When your eulogium on Sibella Valmont ceased, I withdrew; flew to my chamber; and hastily locked the door, as if I had newly found treasure to deposit there in secresy. I threw myself into a chair. 'And is not all this familiar to thee, Murden?' said I, after a pause. 'Hast thou not a thousand and a thousand times, in thy waking and sleeping visions, described a being thus artless, thus feminine, yet firm, such an all-attractive daughter of wisdom? – Ay: but I had never personified her in Sibella Valmont, though Clement had sworn ten thousand fathom deeper to her beauty.'

I could make no more nor less of it. My head ached; and my soul was burthened. I went to bed, and dreamt of a wilderness, and an angel; and the vision followed me through the engagements of the succeeding day.

Whether it was that I more industriously fought it than formerly, I know not, but soon an opportunity arose of conversing with you alone. It was easy to lead to a theme wherein your affections were as much engaged as my curiosity; and I heard every interesting particular of her mind, manners, and seclusion. Her love of Clement Montgomery, was also remembered. To me, his love of her never bore any striking features; and, somehow, her's to him seldom intruded amidst my chimeras. Strange wishes arose – tremulous expectations. 'It is all curiosity,' said I; 'and to overcome the obstacles that forbid thy knowledge of this Phœnix, is worthy the labour of ingenuity.'

When you, Madam, took the road to Bath, I unattended crossed the country to Valmont castle. Three days I passed in reviving and rejecting the scheme; and during that time, had stationed myself at a farm-house within a mile of Valmont. In the farmer, I recognized an old school-fellow of my day's of humility; and one whom I loved dearly too, before my uncle was a nabob. We met each other with an appearance of restraint and embarrassment. I, certainly conscious of an unjust neglect of him: he, perhaps secretly despising the man who preferred wealth to honesty. But reparation was then in my power; and the very critical moment at hand.

Farmer Richardson is rather given to endure than to complain. His simple statement of a few facts, which led to the service I rendered him, contained no invective. 'He told me he was an unfortunate man, to be sure; but Mr. Valmont was not obliged to know that.' – As to family concerns at the castle, after which I enquired, he said, 'he had occasionally heard more than he chose to relate. That the 'squire was perhaps proud and capricious, but he might have reasons for his conduct. Let every man act according to his own conscience, and the Lord have mercy on the greatest sinner.' Such is honest Richardson's creed.

The farmer's taciturnity was amply contrasted by the loquacity of his hind, formerly a domestic at the castle, and suddenly discharged with that pride and petulance for which its owner is famed. – John Thomas dwelt at Valmont-castle when Clement Montgomery was adopted; when Miss Valmont was brought thither – and though I always made him begin there, he constantly found means to shift his ground to the ancient mysteries of the domain. 'A sinful lord, turned penitent, enjoined to find money and materials for the structure, it pleased a neighbouring society of devout fathers to erect on the rock within the park. It was further necessary to his salvation, that this hermitage should be endowed on two of the most holy monks of the brotherhood, who would undertake to live longest by prayer and fasting. The event proved the choice admirably founded. Without the adventitious aid of victuals and drink, they dwelt I know not what number of years in this practice of piety, saw the society from whence they came broken and dispersed, and peaceably ended their days in the hermitage.' – Selfish fellows though these saints, according to John Thomas; for, dead, they will not yield possession to the living, but

 
Revisit still the glimpses of the moon
Making night horrible.
 

I essayed to gain information concerning Miss Valmont; and John Thomas's deduction from the little he had seen and the more he had heard was, that Miss had not a right understanding. He always thought Master Montgomery better natured of the two, and he would be a fine fortune when he came back from foreign countries.

Legends of the haunted ruin, on which John Thomas delighted to dwell, first suggested to me a hermit's disguise. Already, Miss Ashburn, you contemn the romance of my scheme; and its practicability seems impossible in expectation. Experience taught me how much a little ingenuity and great perseverance will effect. In all cases, whether of right or wrong, jointly they can almost work miracles.

Early misfortunes, a life of hard labour and little profit, had blunted that quickness of sensation in farmer Richardson, which might have led him to conjecture something mysterious of me. If I was there to claim my meals, it was well; if not, 'twas the same. I contrived to evade all enquiries into my absence, whether it were of the night or day, by fixing on myself the character of an eccentric whimsical solitary.

Ah, Miss Ashburn! I smile to observe the precaution, and industry, wherewith I wrought my wretchedness! You allow me to be minute I know, for I know your sympathy and sincerity.

How this recapitulation of events has beguiled from me the consciousness of passing time! In this under-ground cell, where no ray of the sun's light ever penetrated, have I by my solitary lamp counted the lagging moments throughout a day. Yet now living over again in remembrance that preparatory fortnight when I was at farmer Richardson's was only restless, I have suffered hours to go by, without any additional torment of suspended expectation. Sibella is not returned. I thought I heard the sound of her feet in the chapel above; but, when I ascended, she was not there. I went on to the other side, but darkness has enveloped the castle, wood, and park. I shall not see her to-night then. Mr. Valmont may be from home, occupied or engaged; and she cannot gain an hearing. Nina too has quitted me; yet I am less alone than heretofore. The spirit of your friendship hovers round me. Be my friend, Miss Ashburn, while existence cleaves to me; and, when I am gone, double the portion of your love to Sibella. – Ah me! my heart has strange forebodings that she will greatly need it.

A continuation of my narrative shall amuse the sleepless night. Who will dispute that my claim to saintship is not more incontestible than that of the former fasting inhabitants of this mansion? The holy monks by their mysterious passages into the castle, could and assuredly did indemnify themselves at night for the forbearance of the day. But I, who have learned in this cell and its invirons to banish sleep, one of nature's greatest wants, where shall I seek the lulling medicine which can steal me from self? – can anticipate the tomb?

During the fortnight previous to my first seeing Miss Valmont, I reconnoitred day after day every inch of ground around the moat, and a first circuit showed me that immediately beside the rock the moat, forming an angle, is not above a third part as broad as in any other place. This of course rendered it much easier to cross, but that facility was more than counterbalanced by the abruptness of the bank on the side next the lane, and the slippery steepness of the rock on the park side. Still this seemed the place, from its great privacy and difficulty of access, by which I must enter. Never but once did I see any creature approach it; and then I saw a gentleman on the opposite hill, who seemed to have lost his way. The exactness and solicitude of my observations at length pointed out a tolerable and easy method of descending the bank; for I perceived stumps of trees irregularly but artfully disposed, which I dare believe had been either purposely placed or purposely left there for the climber's assistance. At first, this surprised me: however, the whole business was fully explained, when measuring the depth of the moat in separate places, I discovered (and blessed the saintly contrivance of the starving monks) a mound raised across the moat, about two feet below its surface, on which large pieces of the rock were thrown, their edges just covered with water, so that with the assistance of my pole, I could pass from one to the other, suffering little more inconvenience than a wet shoe.

'Forerunners of your worthy successor,' exclaimed I, 'thankfully I receive the benefit of your labours! Your work, no doubt, is perfect in ingenuity; I shall tread in your steps up the mountain's rugged side, and nightly visit my shrine as you nightly deserted yours.'

Yes, Miss Ashburn, the ascent was attainable; and, though time has destroyed some of the useful works of the holy fathers, yet here and there, particularly in the more abrupt parts of the rock, I found steps formed. By diligent heed of these, and other aids, I certainly gained the only path by which I could have reached my destination. It brought me on the back of the hermitage to the chapel's entrance, which if you have at all noticed its situation, you will recollect to be so placed, that any one may enter it without being discovered from the wood, or even from the park side of the rock.

I will not tell – no, I cannot tell you the swelling joy with which I hailed myself master of the ruin. It commands no prospect, save of the wood-path where stands Valmont's monument, and, a dearer object, Sibella's oak; yet, I bent my eager view through the chapel's cracked wall, and bade the winds bear to the castle's owner my proud defiance. This my first visit, performed at twilight, was only a visit of inspection. I discovered the stairs under the altar; but deemed it, at least improper, if not dangerous, to explore them without light.

All my apparatus were forthwith conveyed to the moat's-edge, where rushes afforded them an hiding place, till I had carried them to my station. A few biskets alone was my provender; but for the supply of my dark lantern I was abundantly careful. No monarch ever ascended a throne with more bounding exultation than that which filled my breast, when I took possession of this lower cell.

The next day, I saw her. – Good God! and you have seen her too – at the foot of her oak – her flowing hair – her modest drapery – a model for the sculptor! – A vision for the poet! – I became neither! —

Were I to live ages, I could never describe her, for when her image is most perfect with me I have neither powers of mind, nor the common faculties of nature. The overwhelming sensation sinks me to the earth. Montgomery! – She may live in thy imagination, but not in thy heart, as in mine!

Surely I grow tedious in detail. These occurrences were few; yet they swell in relation.

Three days elapsed ere she came again to her wood. Doubtless, Madam, you have already heard of our conversation. – 'She feared me not' – She left me to inform Mr. Valmont. – In the first moment of our intercourse, I saw the firmness of her character. I saw she knew not how to threaten; she could only reason and resolve. I dared not quit the hermitage in day light, but I could provide for my safety within it. Walking backward and forward in my cell for exercise, one stone of the flooring had constantly resounded under my footsteps, and as I trod harder it appeared loosened from the rest. 'A grave or a treasure?' said I, and I raised the stone. There was only a flight of steps, three times as wide as those descending from the chapel. As I now trod the ground of mystery, this discovery excited no surprise; and, imagining myself securely and conveniently stationed in the cell, I had not the smallest inclination to explore further, till hearing the voices of people on the rock, who I doubted not were coming in search of me, I committed myself with my lantern to the subterraneous passage. Finding it well arched, dry, and wide, curiosity led me on; for I no sooner discovered it, than I conjectured its secret communication with some apartment of the castle.

It is unnecessary, Miss Ashburn, to dwell on the construction of this passage, its ascents, and descents, windings, &c. – Suffice it to say, that it seemed a journey of infinite length; that the crumbling fragments of one broken arch had nigh forbidden my progress; and finally that, this difficulty overcome, a sliding pannel of oak incomparably fitted, gave me admission into the armoury. From amidst the surrounding trophies of honour I snatched a sword, determined therewith to defend myself against any direct attack.

In the armoury I remained all that night; for I thought it possible that someone might be stationed to watch for me in the cell. Shall I not tell you that a feeling which surmounted my apprehensions of discovery chained me to the armoury? – I was under the same roof with Sibella!

The first dawnings of morn burst imperfectly through the high and grated casements; and I heard the creaking door of the armoury begin to open; I darted through my pannel, but the pannel shut heavily and with noise. Some person had already entered the armoury ere the pannel was quite closed. I shuddered for the consequences that might ensue; and I retreated a few steps, and grasped my sword. I heard the person in the armoury walk, and several times pass the pannel. The step was light and gentle. I heard a sigh. My heart took the prompt alarm. I looked through the crevice. It was – I had almost said – my Sibella – No: Montgomery's Sibella! I forced back the panel – flew to her – trembled – spoke – was wild, vehement, and perhaps utterly unintelligible.

And here let me pause, Miss Ashburn, to remark how strongly I discovered in her mind I had pictured and panted to possess. When I first approached her in the wood, tottering under a hermit's disguise, I could perceive, as it were, her collecting spirits embody themselves to repel my fraud. 'It matters little to me,' said she, 'who or what you are, since I well know you cannot be what you would seem.' Conscious rectitude forbade her to fear me, – it forbade her to mix me with her ideas in one shape – all her all prevalent love forbade it in another. – I saw her once – when the time, the place, the circumstance would have appalled me into agony! When, unseen, I echoed her bursting sigh, from behind the monument, I saw her a moment mute with surprise, then, call into her mien a dignity so firm so undaunted, that it might have spoken lessons to a hero.

After Miss Valmont left me in the armoury, I waited another hour; and assuring myself, from the still silence that prevailed, my passage was undiscovered, I returned to my cell, which I believe none had entered since I quitted. The succeeding night I revisited farmer Richardson's.

John Thomas, ever delighted to talk, came on me open-mouthed, with a tale newly brought from the castle: namely, that Miss Valmont had seen and spoken with the hermit's ghost in the wood.

And next, Madam, to prevent suspicion and enquiry, I deemed it proper to join you and my uncle's party at Bath. There, in the midst of the crowds, was I alone. I saw but one form. I heard but one voice. I began to despise Montgomery; to assure myself, against conviction, that she did not could not love him; and had promised my heart I know not what of success and felicity when – the contrast past; his letter came; and I, in the saloon, in your presence, before a crowd of witnesses, behaved like a fool and a madman. Pardon, Miss Ashburn, in consideration of my despair, any surprise or shock my conduct gave you. Never can you know what were the feelings of that night. Love had no concern therewith. It was a night of hatred, revenge and rage.

Adieu, Madam. I have filled up the last space of my paper, and my narrative must rest till I return to the farm.

The blessings of an uncorrupted mind ever, ever, be your possession.

A. MURDEN